


Hide and Seek

by coraxes



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, Modern Thedas, hawke is a rockstar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-12
Updated: 2015-12-12
Packaged: 2018-05-06 07:24:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5407997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coraxes/pseuds/coraxes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cassandra's had an absurd celebrity crush on Marian Hawke for the last two years.  She did not expect to meet her in a Kirkwall diner.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hide and Seek

Cassandra Pentaghast was a creature of habit.  Twenty-five years after Anthony had first suggested it, she still punched trees when her hay fever acted up.  She still bought the same brand of coffee she had begun drinking in college, even though others probably tasted better.  And whenever she was in Kirkwall, she stopped at a tiny diner called Gallows Humor for a burger, fries, and chocolate milkshake, because five years ago Leliana had told her they were the best in the Free Marches.  As usual, Leliana was right.

 

This time, Cassandra was alone.  She had left her work with Leliana some years ago to rejoin the Seekers, and it was the Seekers that had brought her to Kirkwall.  Earlier she’d caught the fugitive she’d been tracking for the last few weeks and brought him in; now she really needed the best diner food the Marches had to offer. 

 

She took a seat at one of the cracked black barstool and ordered, ignoring the waitress’s slightly alarmed look.  Cassandra knew she looked like shit, but the healers had assured her it was nothing life-threatening, so she’d let it heal on its own.

 

Out of the corner of her eye, Cassandra saw someone hop onto a stool two down from her.  She felt the person looking at her before they spoke.  “Let me guess.  Lost a round with a bronto?”

 

The voice was at once familiar and foreign.  Frowning, Cassandra turned toward the speaker: a woman with an impish smirk, short, messy black hair, and the brightest blue eyes Cassandra had ever seen.  “I won,” Cassandra corrected shortly.  And then her eyes widened as she realized where she’d seen the woman before.  “You’re Marian Hawke!”

 

Hawke’s smirk widened into a grin.  “That’s me.”

 

Cassandra sputtered and, unaccountably, blushed.  Which was ridiculous.  Hawke was just a woman.  So what if she happened to be the woman Cassandra had idolized for the last five years?

 

Hawke continued, ignoring her reaction.  “But now you’ve got _me_ curious.  Whose bronto was it?  Does Kirkwall just have a wild bronto population I’ve never noticed?  I’m not sure how they’d fit through the streets.  Then again, they _do_ fit in the Deep Roads…”

 

“It wasn’t really a bronto,” said the part of Cassandra that wasn’t stuck on a loop thinking _oh Maker it’s_ Hawke. _“_ I’m a Seeker.  I got all this from a fugitive.”

 

Hawke’s eyebrows rose.  “The one in the Hanged Man?  Good on you.  Hey, Norah!  Let me get her check!”

 

“You don’t have to do that,” Cassandra protested, at once gratified and embarrassed.  She hated being paid for; even on the few dates she’d had, she covered her own meals.

 

Hawke shrugged.  “Oh, c’mon.  You’re doing a public service.  And I don’t know if you’ve heard, but I’m filthy rich.”

 

This was…fair enough.

 

Hawke’s band, Champion, was easily the most famous in Thedas.  Everywhere Cassandra traveled, she could turn on the radio and hear a Champion single.  All of the members were talented, and each had their own group of fans.  But Marian Hawke was the founder and face of the band. 

 

She was a media darling—beautiful, charming, just awkward enough, with a tear-jerker of a backstory.  Her father died when she was eleven, then her mother was murdered when Hawke was nineteen.  Hawke had somehow gained primary custody of her twin siblings.  To support them, she’d dropped out of college and started taking on odd jobs—including playing at coffee houses with the band that would eventually become Champion.

 

“Tragic?” Marian had laughed once during a documentary’s interview.  (At this point, Cassandra had been dabbing at her eyes with a tissue and praying Regalyan didn’t walk in.)  “If my life really were tragic, I wouldn’t be _nearly_ famous enough to tell you about it.”

 

Champion got their break, of course.  Hawke’s best friend, manager, and songwriter, Varric Tethras, sent Champion’s album to a friend at Davri Records.  Hawke found out about it on the day they got picked up—the same day that her siblings graduated high school.  (When she watched this part of the documentary, Cassandra had been bawling.)

 

So yes, Hawke was filthy rich, and she just happened to be one of Cassandra’s personal heroes.  If Hawke wanted to pay for Cassandra’s dinner, Cassandra supposed she should let her.  “True enough,” Cassandra said.  Her brain finally seemed to be off its idiotic loop; perhaps now she could speak to Hawke like a normal person.  She cleared her throat.  “So, ah, what brings you to Kirkwall?”

 

What a ridiculous thing to ask.  She was _from_ Kirkwall.  Cassandra had never been good at small talk even when she wasn’t flustered.

 

Hawke shrugged.  “Just taking a break before we start recording for the next album.”

 

Cassandra’s eyes widened.  “You’re recording again?” 

 

“Did I say that?” Hawke grinned.  “Yeah, but that’s privileged information, Miss Seeker.”

 

She had _privileged information._ About _Hawke._ Cassandra smiled a little giddily.  “It’s Cassandra,” she said. 

 

“No last name?” Hawke asked, resting her chin on her hand.  “I suppose you have to keep that air of mystery.”

 

Shaking her head, Cassandra replied, “Cassandra Pentaghast.  There’s nothing mysterious about _me._ ”

 

“Oh, come on now—I’m sure there’s got to be _something._ ”

 

And, somehow, they kept talking.  About inconsequential things at first, the other members of Champion and Cassandra’s job.   At one point Hawke moved down a stool so she was sitting right next to Cassandra. 

 

Then a story about Leliana became, “You know, you’re half the reason I realized I was—”  Blessed Andraste, she had _not_ almost said that.

 

Hawke tilted her head.  “Realized what?”

 

Oh, she’d done it now.  Staring at the ceiling, Cassandra admitted, “That I was attracted to women.”

 

Hawke went silent.  Cassandra, face aflame, was too embarrassed to look down.  She must seem so _creepy…_ Then Hawke asked, “It was the Dowager shoot, wasn’t it?”

 

The Dowager shoot had been of Hawke wearing boots, red paint, and nothing else.  Cassandra coughed.  “That was…a factor,” Cassandra admitted.  It was the only issue she’d ever bought.

 

“Well, glad to be of service,” Hawke said cheerfully.  “Is that why you’ve been blushing so much?  It’s adorable.”

 

“I am not _adorable,_ ” Cassandra protested, eyes snapping to Hawke’s, and just like that they fell back into a strange sort of normal. 

 

By the time Cassandra had finished her milkshake she’d told Hawke about Anthony, and Hawke told Cassandra about the famous car accident a few years before that had nearly killed her brother.  They spoke of growing up without parents, of things Cassandra had never expected to tell _anyone,_ and all through it Hawke managed to crack jokes and tease and flirt.

 

Somehow Cassandra’s embarrassing celebrity crush had become a real woman, one who managed to surpass the ideal she’d created in her head. 

 

Then in the middle of an anecdote about Isabela, the band’s backup guitar player, Hawke’s phone rang.  She picked it up, frowning.  “ _Are you in jail?_ ” Cassandra heard the woman on the other end of the line say.

 

“Aveline, you wound me,” Hawke said melodramatically, pressing a hand to her forehead and giving Cassandra a look. 

 

“ _I might.  You can’t stay out until one in the morning and not_ tell _anyone, Hawke.”_

It was _that_ late?  Cassandra hurriedly checked her phone; it was a little after one.  She’d arrived at ten.  Had they truly been talking for three hours?  No wonder her back felt so stiff.

 

“Alright, alright, don’t bite my head off.  I’ve been at Gallows Humor; I’ll head back now.”

 

_“You’d better,”_ said Aveline ominously, and Hawke snapped the phone shut.

 

Cassandra hopped up from her stool.  “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize we were talking so late.”

 

“What’re you apologizing for?” Hawke asked, and yawned.  She fished a few crumpled bills out of her pocket and handed it to the waitress behind the counter.  “That should cover it, Norah—keep the change.  Do you have work in the morning?”

 

It took Cassandra a moment to realize this was addressed to her.  “No—I need to go back to Val Royeaux, but my flight doesn’t leave until the day after tomorrow.”

 

“Excellent,” said Hawke, beaming.  “Do you want to…do something later, then?”  She waved her hands vaguely.

 

“Do something.”

 

“You know.  Do an activity together,” said Hawke, which didn’t really clarify anything.

 

Still, Cassandra had a hard time thinking of things she _didn’t_ want to do with Hawke.  Thank the Maker she and Galyan were on a break, she thought, then immediately felt guilty about it.  “I—yes, of course,” Cassandra said shyly.

 

It wasn’t until Cassandra reached her hotel room that she realized neither she nor Hawke had the other’s phone number.

 

\--

 

As difficult as it was, Cassandra tried to put the encounter with Hawke out of her mind over the following weeks.  Theirs had been a once-in-a-lifetime encounter, and even though she still felt a lurch of disappointment whenever she thought of their missed chance, Cassandra reminded herself that most people didn’t get to spend three hours chatting with their personal heroes.  She told no one but Leliana and moved on with her life.

 

Or she thought she did.

 

Then, months later, she heard the song.

 

She was driving down the Ferelden highway, scanning through radio stations, when she heard, “—new single from Champion!  This is ‘Hide and Seek.’”

 

Cassandra would _not_ think that this song was about her.  Her heart would _not_ speed up when she heard Hawke’s voice begin to croon in the melodic opening.  She would be rational about this.  There was no reason to suspect Hawke cared more about Cassandra than she did any other fan—

 

But the lyrics—they wouldn’t be obvious to anyone who didn’t know about it. Still, the imagery, little mentions of dark streets outside the windows and fluorescent lights, reminded Cassandra of the diner.  Couldn’t the mentions of seeking and the line about a scar’s curve be about Cassandra?  There was a reference to a dragon heart that could be anything (Champion’s lyrics often involved dragons), but she’d told Hawke that Anthony had called her a little dragon.  And, of all things, there was a line in the second verse about punching trees. 

 

Cassandra listened to the song all the way through, mouth dry.  She punched the radio’s power button, found the nearest gas station, and pulled into the parking lot.  Cassandra looked up the song on her phone; there were no videos yet, so she bought and downloaded it on the spot.  Then she sat in her car and listened to it all the way through, her eyes closed.

 

What convinced her, more than anything, was the theme of the song.  It was about opportunity lost, about the feeling that someone could have been important to you, but you’d just _missed_ them.

 

It was exactly what Cassandra felt when she remembered that night.  How often had she replayed it in her head, thinking of all the times she could have asked for Hawke’s number?  How often had she wondered what might have happened if Hawke had asked Cassandra to come home with her, or if Cassandra had taken a chance and asked Hawke herself?

 

The song was about her.  It had to be.

 

Hawke wanted to see Cassandra again as much as Cassandra wanted to see Hawke, and she had no idea what to do about it.

 

\--

 

Leliana called her mere hours later.  “Did you hear the new song?”

 

“I think it’s about me,” Cassandra admitted.

 

Scoffing, Leliana said, “Of course it’s about you.”  Leliana paused, and when she spoke again there was a younger, dreamier quality about her voice.  “It’s very…romantic, Cassandra.”

 

“I know!” Cassandra snapped.  Then, more gently, “I’m sorry.  I’m…confused.  And upset.  You know I don’t like talking of romance at the best of times.”

 

“I’m quite aware.  I was there for all yours and Galyan’s breakups.”  Even over the phone, Cassandra knew Leliana was grinning.  “Tell me you aren’t back together again.”

 

“No, I think this one will stick,” Cassandra said.  She couldn’t imagine getting back together with Galyan when she had _this_ on her mind, anyway. 

 

“Good,” Leliana said.  “So what are you going to do about the song?”

 

“What _can_ I do about it?” Cassandra asked, half-exasperated and half-hopeful.  Leliana had managed to pull through some truly improbable schemes when they had worked together; she seemed to know everyone.

 

“Hmm.  I’ll ask around.  Perhaps I know someone who knows someone,” said Leliana.  “With something this big…you will find each other again, Cassandra.”

 

Leliana was simultaneously a cynic and a romantic, with the latter bringing itself out most often when it came to her friends.  Still, hearing someone else say what Cassandra barely dared to hope…it helped.  “Thank you.”

 

“I’ll let you know if I find anything,” Leliana said, and hung up.

 

\--

 

Two weeks later, the doorbell rang at Cassandra’s Val Royeaux apartment.  Cassandra frowned; she wasn’t expecting visitors.

 

The doorbell rang again.  Quickly, Cassandra opened the door—and saw Varric Tethras standing right outside it.

 

“You’re the Seeker, right?”  She nodded, gaping.  “You’re a pain in the ass to track down.  You want to meet Hawke again?  Please say yes.  All this moping’s not good for her.”

 

It was the diner all over again.  Cassandra resisted the urge to pinch herself.  “I—”  She cleared her throat.  “Yes.  Yes, of course I want to see her.”

 

“Great.  Get dressed, concert starts in—”  Varric checked his phone.  “Fuck.  Thirty minutes.”

 

Cassandra had already changed into pajamas.  She ran.

 

What did you wear to meet the woman you were half in love with after not seeing her for months?  The first things she could grab: paint-spattered jeans, boots, a ratty old shirt advertising the 13:36 Val Royeaux Marathon, and her leather jacket.  She met Varric at the door with her boots unlaced and three bobby pins in her mouth, trying to put her thin braid back up.  “C’mon, Seeker, we don’t have all day,” Varric drawled as she shut the door and fumbled to lock it. 

 

Cassandra decided, reasonably and maturely, that she didn’t like Varric.

 

Varric hustled her into the car he had parked at the curbside, and his chauffeur took off without waiting for directions.  “Do you know how hard you are to find?” he asked as Cassandra reached for a seatbelt.

 

“It’s not on purpose,” Cassandra protested.  She hesitated.  “Has Hawke really been…moping?”

 

Varric snorted.  “You heard the song, didn’t you?”

 

It shouldn’t please her to hear the confirmation that Hawke was just as upset as Cassandra had been, but—she smiled down at her lap. 

 

“You’re disgusting,” Varric said good-naturedly, shaking his head.  “Look, uh, despite what you might have heard, Hawke doesn’t have all that much experience with romance.”

 

Cassandra shrugged, wondering where this was going.  “She told me.”  Hawke had complained at length how she couldn’t go out with any of her bandmates without someone speculating she was sleeping with them; according to Hawke, the only band member she’d been with was Isabela, and that was years ago. 

 

“Good.  So don’t be a dick to her.”  There was steel in Varric’s voice now.

 

Cassandra met Varric’s eyes and nodded firmly.  “I won’t,” she said.

 

By the time they arrived at the arena where Champion was playing, the first of their two opening acts was already onstage.  Varric hopped out of the car and gestured for Cassandra to follow, yelling, “She’s with me,” at all the security personnel who tried to stop her. 

 

The longer they walked, the faster her heart beat.  She was going to see Hawke again—it was really happening—it could all blow up in her face, some part of Cassandra was whispering, but she was determined not to listen to it.

 

By the time they reached a door marked with a star, Cassandra’s heart was in her throat and her palms were clammy.  She clenched them into fists at her sides. 

 

Varric pushed the door open and yelled, “Hey, Hawke, brought you something!”

 

“Unless it’s Rivaini takeout I don’t give a—”

 

Cassandra pushed through after Varric, and Hawke abruptly went silent.

 

She knew that there were other people in the room: Varric, Hawke’s bandmates, security.  But there was only one person in the room Cassandra cared about, and she was staring back at her.  “Oh,” said Hawke.  There was red streaked across her nose and cheekbones, her signature stage makeup, and underneath that her skin was flushing pink.

 

“You wrote a song about me,” Cassandra blurted.

 

Hawke tilted her head.  “Did you like it?”  The look on her face was too nervous to be a smile, too genuine for a smirk.

 

“It was lovely,” Cassandra said.

 

“Oh.  Well…good.”

 

They stared at each other.

 

“This is ridiculous,” Cassandra declared, and with two steps, she crossed the room and kissed Hawke.

 

Hawke’s reaction was immediate.  She grabbed at the sides of Cassandra’s t-shirt, tugging Cassandra closer and pulling herself up on her toes.  After a moment someone wolf-whistled and Cassandra broke away, blushing but unable to keep herself from smiling.  “ _You’re_ ridiculous,” Hawke said, grinning back.  “You should have done that when I met you.”

 

“Should I have?”

 

“Well, it would have made things a lot more interesting,” Hawke said. 

 

“Are you going to introduce us or what?” a woman—Isabela—asked.

 

 Hawke raised an eyebrow.  “What do you think?” she asked in a stage whisper.  “We can go make out in the broom cupboard over there or you can meet everyone.  Your call.”

 

The first offer was…tempting.  But… “I’d like to stay here,” Cassandra said.  “We have time.”

 

Tomorrow, Hawke would probably have to leave Val Royeaux for the next stop on her tour.  In a few days Cassandra would be sent out into the field again.  Neither of them would leave their jobs or lives behind. 

 

But—call it blind optimism—Cassandra thought they could make it work. 

**Author's Note:**

> hey so i really don't know what this is, i plotted it during a longass car drive and finished it at 3 in the morning
> 
> this ship was made for a rock star au though
> 
> in case you were wondering:  
> hawke - lead singer/lead guitar/sometimes songwriter  
> beth and carver - were in the band originally; then they broke off to work on their own little two-person act. they still show up and do shows with Champion sometimes, though  
> isabela - backup guitar/harmonies  
> fenris - bass  
> merrill - drums (no real reason for this except i love the image of tiny lil merrill playing drums okay)  
> anders - keyboard  
> aveline - head of security + team mom  
> varric - manager and songwriter
> 
> comments and criticism are <3


End file.
